Chapter Seventeen
“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.”
“Poisoned?” Cyrus asked Kenan. “Ye’re certain?”
Hamish Mackinnon had gained enemies through the years.
He stirred up trouble at clan gatherings and planned raids for the bloody fun of it.
After his father had traded Cyrus for Patrick when the more valuable son had been captured at Solway Moss, the rift that had always existed between them had become a chasm.
One that had widened when Cyrus argued with him about ceasing the practice of raids since returning from England.
“There were death cap mushrooms scattered around his room. When the messenger left Dun Haakon to bring news north, yer father had already slipped into semi-consciousness.”
Cyrus pulled his sister into his arms, and her stiff body relaxed as she finally released her tears. She’d cared for the old man, who’d doted on his only daughter. Only his failing body had stopped him from coming to the wedding and allowed an assassin to get to him.
Kenan continued. “Rory thinks it was Winnie Mar, or whatever she’s called since wedding my brother, Gilbert.”
Cyrus looked over Grace’s head at Kenan. “Her brother, Reid Hodges, was at Tuath Tower some time ago.” Then he turned his gaze to Iain. “And Winnie was yer mistress for several months.”
Without even looking toward Grace, Iain said, “I sent her away before the wedding and told her never to return.” His voice was without care, as if he wasn’t surprised that she might be a murderess.
“Her brother, however, remained in the area and began helping my cousin and her band of miscreants. They are both criminals, then.” His gaze drifted through the archway to the stairs. “Laria might know where they are.”
“She doesn’t,” Cyrus said, still holding Grace. She held him tightly but didn’t tremble.
Cyrus studied Iain. Was he full of evil, like Laria said? Or was she somehow mistaken? “Ye don’t know where Winnie Mar may have gone?”
“Nay,” Iain said, the word terse.
Cyrus looked back to Kenan. “We must go to Dun Haakon. My mother is already en route.”
“Lady Olive left Tuath Tower without any civil farewell,” Iain said, flapping a hand.
Cyrus felt Grace squeeze his sleeve, but then she straightened and dabbed away her tears with her handkerchief. “She said farewell to me, milord, but you were out when Chief Rory decided to take his wife home. My mother had no choice but to go with him, not knowing what had become of Cyrus.”
“Who, apparently, was lying under the stars with my cousin,” Iain said with a snide twist of his lips. “While the rest of us searched for them unsuccessfully.” He waited, as if for further explanation, but Cyrus didn’t afford him any.
Kenan kept his gaze tethered to Cyrus. “I also came to recall ye to Dun Haakon so the Mackinnon Clan can swear fealty to their new chief.”
With the death of his father, Cyrus would likely be the next chief. Someone could challenge him, and the outcome would depend on who the warriors supported. Although that would be him, he needed to secure his position with a fealty ceremony.
“We will leave in the morn,” Cyrus said. “Grace? Will ye come?”
Iain sighed, his hands raking through his usually kempt hair. “I am desperate for ye to stay, love,” he said, all the anger from his earlier tone having seeped away.
He inhaled as he met Cyrus’s gaze. “Apologies, Brother. I am at my wit’s end in putting this matter to rights with my cousin and grandmother.
But they hide away, and I am unable to plead my case to them both.
I would have Grandmother back here in warmth and safety.
Failing to find her is making me unkind and desperate.
” Emotion softened his words, allowing sincerity to show.
Iain pulled Grace gently away from Cyrus and into his arms. “’Tis up to ye, my love,” he said, looking down at her.
Every time Cyrus was convinced Iain was a villain who hid his true self from his people, he did something that reeked of gentle kindness.
Could all of Iain’s sins be laid upon his henchman, Jasper Whitt?
Grace looked at Cyrus from Iain’s arms. “I just arrived here and have barely met the people.” She turned her face to Iain. “Our people.”
“Ye can go, if ye must for yer mother’s sake,” Iain said. “’Tis yer choice.”
“Mother despises Father.” A little sob issued from her.
“Despised,” she corrected. She straightened and looked at Cyrus, her tone regal once more.
“I will stay here in Staffin for a month, but if you think Mother needs me after that, send for me, and I will journey to Dun Haakon. Perhaps she will want to come to live at Tuath Tower with me when you take over the running of Clan Mackinnon.”
Cyrus studied the newlywed couple. They were handsome together, and Iain didn’t clutch at her, giving her the freedom to go if she pleased. But his face had darkened with the suggestion.
Cyrus rubbed the back of his stiff neck. “I’ll keep ye informed through couriers.” His gaze slipped to Iain. “I am bringing Laria Macqueen with me.”
Iain’s face, which had softened with concern for his wife’s feelings, hardened. “I tell ye, she’s mad, Brother. Ye don’t want to burden yerself with a wife who harangues ye and may attempt murder.”
“From stealing chickens to murder,” Cyrus said, his eyes narrowed. “Yer opinion of yer cousin plummets by the day.”
“Maybe not murder, but certainly uncommon mischievousness and trouble.” Iain shook his head. “My cousin is addled and suspicious, Brother.”
The label Iain continued to use for him made Cyrus’s muscles tense. His brother by birth was dead, and the only others that deserved that name were Rory, Kenan, and Ash. “I haven’t seen this madness ye attribute to her.”
“No?” Iain asked, releasing Grace to step closer to Cyrus.
“Accusing me of killing my own mother. Stealing away my grandmother, forcing her to live in caves and the forest where wolves roam, stealing food from her own kitchens to feed the riffraff with whom my grandmother is forced to cohabitate. Leaving ye tied to yer bed.” Iain shook his head as if saddened.
“Ye must admit that the evidence is damning.”
“I investigated the sanity of yer family,” Cyrus said, admitting his reconnaissance into making certain his sister would be safe at Tuath. “I found none.”
Iain frowned. “Investigated? How?”
“I sent spies here to ask yer people about rumors and things they’d seen.”
“Cy!” Grace said, giving him a tight frown. “You sent spies?”
His hard gaze never left Iain. “I wasn’t letting ye marry into an unsafe place.” Even though that might be exactly what he’d done. “But I didn’t uncover everything, like…a twin brother named Tomas.”
Iain blinked several times, almost like a twitch. “Tomas died when we were ten. ’Twas a blessing, really. His back was severely misaligned.”
Kenan made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. “One of my sisters has a curved spine, and I’m thankful that she’s alive.”
Iain didn’t even look at Kenan but kept Cyrus’s gaze. “Abnormality of the mind has only been seen in Laria, until age creeps in.”
“Is that why ye sent yer mother away?” Cyrus asked. “Age was creeping in, and ye didn’t like the reminder?”
Iain spoke through clenched teeth. “My mother had a host of sins, but aging wasn’t one of them.”
Cyrus studied the man. He’d get nothing more out of him, so he changed topics. “I’m taking Laria away from here.”
“Very well, we will call a priest to see ye two wed now,” Iain said.
“Wed?” Grace looked at her husband. “You would have my brother tie himself to a madwoman?”
“There is no other woman to chaperone her on a ship with twenty able-bodied men. ’Tis unseemly.
” Iain looked back at Cyrus with another thrust in this strange battle of words.
“Too bad Lady Sara and yer mother had to leave so quickly, before dawn and a proper farewell. Else Laria could have accompanied ye unmarried.”
Cyrus remembered every cutting syllable of Laria’s words on the matter of marrying him. His voice was low, like a growl. “I’m not leaving her behind.”
Iain stared at him, and even though there was a smile on his face, there was challenge in his eyes.
“My cousin is no maid since she is a widow, but I won’t have her wanton behavior noticed outside these walls.
She can be yer mistress while ye are here, but she won’t go unmarried on a ship with twenty sailors. ”
He spoke as if Laria would be passed around to his crew for their pleasure. The thought tightened all of Cyrus’s muscles with anger, his teeth clenching.
“I will find chaperones in the village,” Cyrus said.
Iain stretched an arm out toward a pile of jars, a folded tartan, and baskets of scones and tarts.
Grace rolled her eyes. “Those are gifts that have been brought up to the tower by every woman who wants you to remember them as the lass you kissed at the masquerade.”
“As ye can see,” Iain said, “there are plenty of Marys to choose from, but I know for certain that their papas won’t let them accompany ye to Dun Haakon without ye first taking one of them to wife.”
“How about a handfasting?” Kenan said. “Married for a year and a day, but the two can part without shame at the end if no child comes of it.”
Would Laria agree to that if she refused to wed him?
Grace made a little sound that Cyrus knew was subdued fury. Kenan’s face instantly turned a shade darker. Who knew the warrior could blush?
“Handfasting is archaic and isn’t valid without a priest’s blessing,” Grace said.
Iain nodded. “I agree. If Laria wants to accompany ye to Dun Haakon, she will have to wed ye here first.” He smiled, showing polished teeth.
“Tell her that. We will leave it to her.” Before Cyrus could say anything further, Iain turned to Kenan.
“Let’s find ye sustenance, perhaps a tart.
” He eyed the pile. “Ye can rest after yer ride from Scorrybreac. With a bath as well.”